


Swing That Way

by paradoxsmiles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Kissing, Light Bondage, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sex Swing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2222487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradoxsmiles/pseuds/paradoxsmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock installs a sex swing in his bedroom to test a theory he has about a murder victim. However, he needs a partner to test his hypothesis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swing That Way

**Author's Note:**

> First smut fic, ever. Lots of descriptive Johnlock porn for you to enjoy. Unintentional fluff, too.
> 
> Comments, critiques heartily welcomed. I know the formatting's bad for a narrative, but it's been ages since I've written anything.
> 
> Also, this has not been proofread at all.

John nearly dropped the groceries as he stumbled into the flat that afternoon. When he had left, Sherlock was lounging on the sofa in that blue dressing gown of his complaining of being bored again. John could only take so much of bored Sherlock before making __a retort about what he’d usually do if he were bored, so he had removed himself to the market, hoping that the consulting detective might have found something at least mildly interesting to do while John aimlessly wandered down every. Single. Aisle.

Composing himself and skirting the edges of the living room, he heard faint banging and scraping noises from the direction of Sherlock’s bedroom. Best not to think too much about it, thought John. The kitchen table was once again laden with textbooks and all manner of unidentifiable (to John anyhow) substances in various states of being catalogued. He moved several Petri dishes aside as he found space enough for the bags to sit while he put away his purchases. He put the new tin of tea and a box of sugar cubes (he didn’t take sugar, but Sherlock did and John hated Sherlock’s little fits when they ran out) in the cupboard.

He flitted about the kitchen as he put things away. He came to the bag with a few personal items. Normally he left them just lying around, unconcerned, but he’d needed to purchase a new bottle of personal lubricant to stick upstairs in his bedside table. John quickly removed that from the bag and slipped it into his jeans pocket. He took a breath as he opened the refrigerator, half expecting to see some new, hellish body part. Nothing new at this point, though, so he put the jug of milk and eggs in their proper place.

As he closed the refrigerator door, he heard a rather loud crash from the back of the flat and a string of muffled words he was sure were profanities.

“Sherlock?” John called “Are you all right?” He heard a grunt but no answer.

John stuck his head into the hallway and wasn’t surprised to see the door mostly closed. Through the small opening, however, John could see an obviously human form lying on the floor. In four swift steps he was at the entrance of the bedroom and pushed open the door. Sure enough, there was Sherlock sprawled on the rug, his dressing gown draped haphazardly about his long legs, a toppled stepladder lying just beyond the reach of his pale toes.

“Christ, Sherlock ,” John said, kneeling to help up his flatmate. “What are you doing?”

“Swing.” Sherlock said, waving his hand upward and tossing a screw driver aside.

John creased his eyes in confusion and looked in the direction of Sherlock’s long fingers. How he had missed it when he first opened the door he didn’t know. He supposed he just hadn’t seen it. Only better not to say that, he thought, Sherlock would insist he had simply seen but not observed. True as it may be, that was one of Sherlock’s more infuriating taglines. Hanging from the ceiling, in nearly the exact center of the room, was what John (and most everyone else for that matter) would call a sex swing.

It was simple compared to some of the models John had seen on certain websites he frequented, but nevertheless, the mere sight of it sent a shiver of excitement up his spine. Four separate lengths of chain attached to the ceiling on large hooks, hanging down several feet to what John would think was waist-level for most men of average height. Two of the chains met either ends of a bar at what would be considered the bottom of the thing, then continued down where they attached to the corners of a large portion of (clearly authentic, by the smell) leather. The two chains at the ‘head’ met the other two corners of the ever so slightly trapezoidal piece of shiny, black hide. Affixed to the chain as well were several smaller pieces of leather, which John assumed were straps for restraint.

All this John took in as he lugged Sherlock to a sitting position and held out his hand for him to pull himself up. John took a step toward the thing, then looked back at Sherlock, who was straightening his dressing gown and brushing himself off.

“Sh-Sherlock,” John stammered, straightening the step ladder, “why have you put a SEX swing in the middle of your bedroom?”

Sherlock walked over to the swing and ran his hand down one of the chains. “You remember that case last week? The one with the mayor’s assistant whose husband was killed because he was a gay escort and one of his clients got a bit too attached?” He looked furtively back at John, who nodded. He was surprised Sherlock was bringing it up. At the time, he had called it a four, and seldom reflected on anything less than a seven.

“I was most intrigued by the bruising on his wrists.” Sherlock flourished his wrists at John and looked back at the swing.

“And you came to a sex swing, how?” John asked, chancing a step toward Sherlock.

“A bit of internet research. Swings like this are fairly common in that… trade.” he replied turning fully to John now. Something in Sherlock’s gaze made John freeze. His flatmate was often intense, but this was something he saw only fleetingly, something that ignited a spark in the bottom of his abdomen.

“Okay.” He breathed in, glancing between the swing and Sherlock. “So the bruises were from a swing, and now there’s one in your room because…”

Sherlock smiled, a dark, almost dangerous smile “The cause of the bruises is merely my hypothesis, John. And how do we test our hypothesis?” He stepped back to John now, drawing suddenly very near to the doctor. John couldn’t move. He merely looked up at Sherlock as the taller man leaned down near to John’s ear. “We experiment, John.”

It took all of John’s energy, his strength, to keep his knees from buckling with all the meaning in those words. He couldn’t, however, keep in the whimper of arousal that Sherlock’s words had elicited. Sherlock had expected john to be a willing participant in his experiment, but he hadn’t expected that. With his lips still near John’s ear, Sherlock slowly and gently brushed them along John’s temple, before leaning back to look directly at John’s face. In less than a second, he registered several things from John’s expression: relief, fear, arousal, and most presently, conflict.

“Sherlock” John said, and Sherlock knew the customary denial was coming. He had heard all the reasons before, all of John’s justifications for not doing, not taking what he wanted. He wasn’t going to listen to them again. John locked eyes with Sherlock and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could make a sound, Sherlock had grabbed the sides of his face and pressed his lips against John’s.

At the force of the contact the two sides of John lashed out at each other, each fighting to make his decision.  
 _Bloody finally._  
I’m not gay!  
 _God, that mouth…_  
He’s your best friend!  
 _People already think you’re shagging._  
I’m not gay!  
 _If he had me in that swing…_  
At the lack of response from John, Sherlock pulled away, ready to concede defeat.

He let go of John’s face, whose eyes were now pressed firmly shut, and ran a hand through his curls before dropping his arms to his sides and stepping back, closer to the swing. Perhaps only a second had passed, but as with all time, it felt agonizingly longer to Sherlock, who found that time always stretched on most when he was in a situation with an unknown outcome.  
Almost imperceptibly, John gave a tight nod. “Right.” He said.

“Right.” Sherlock echoed, a note of exasperation cracking through his cool façade.John’s eyes made contact with Sherlock’s, and he saw again that burn.

“Sod it.” John said to the (almost) empty room, before taking the two steps forward and pulling Sherlock down to him by the hair at the nape of his neck, crushing their lips together once again.

Sherlock made a small sound of surprise before wrapping his long arms around John and pulling their bodies tight together. The doctor’s growing erection pressed into Sherlock’s thigh and he deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue confidently between John’s lips. John responded with marked enthusiasm, a low vibration rumbling deep in his throat. He ran his hands up Sherlock’s sides, beneath the dressing gown until his fingers were tangled in Sherlock’s dark curls. He tugged less than gently, and Sherlock moaned into his mouth, his hot breath tickling the back of John’s throat.

Sherlock reached down and cupped John’s arse in his hands, relishing the perfect combination in his hand of fat and muscle. He gave a firm squeeze and John rutted himself against the detective’s leg. John’s left hand fell away from Sherlock’s head and John snaked it down his torso, noting Sherlock’s hardened right nipple and the hollow near his hipbone. While running his tongue along the inside of Sherlock’s teeth, John delicately lifted Sherlock’s soft t-shirt, threaded his fingers into the waistband of Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms, and briefly brushed his fingers along the pale skin before plunging his hand into Sherlock’s pants and wrapping his fist around his cock.

Sherlock inhaled sharply, sucking John’s lip. With his eyes closed, John ran his hand from the base to the tip, noting how his thumb and middle finger only just met with his hand around Sherlock’s girth, the length being a pinky shy of two widths of John’s palm. At John’s contact, Sherlock gave his arse another tight squeeze and pulled out of the kiss, nearly panting. John opened his eyes and looked (up) at Sherlock, focusing on his perfect lips, which were now glistening with saliva and almost red from the suction. John couldn’t help but suddenly need to know what that mouth would look like, would feel like around his prick.

He pulled his hand out of Sherlock’s pyjamas and brought both hands to rest just under the blue silk of the dressing gown. In one swift motion he ran his hands down Sherlock’s sinewy arms, taking the dressing gown off as he went. It puddled at Sherlock’s feet and with the same fluid motion, he lifted the t-shirt to pull it off. without a word, Sherlock raised his arms and helped John undress him. John tossed the shirt aside and pulled Sherlock back to him by the waist, greedily drinking in all the pale flesh before his eyes. John hummed to himself thoughtfully.

"Doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Sherlock’s deep voice startled John out of his reverie. “I’m nearly exposed, and you’ve still got your shoes AND your jumper on.” The brunette nuzzled at the curve of John’s neck and nipped playfully at his collarbone.

John whimpered at Sherlock’s touch and fisted his hands at his sides. Sherlock’s fingers played with the hem of John’s jumper, and he was all too eager to get out of his clothes. He stepped back and clumsily pulled his sweater over his head, pulling up his button down as well. With his head still stuck in the collar, he felt Sherlock’s hands run across his stomach, then start pulling at the buttons of his shirt. John freed himself from his jumper and was amused to see the look of rapt concentration on Sherlock’s face as he tried to undo the buttons from an angle he was clearly not familiar with. John groaned with impatience and Sherlock promptly grabbed both sides of the doctor’s shirt and pulled them apart forcefully, sending buttons clattering across the room before he freed John of that layer as well.

“Oi! I liked that shirt, you git.” John said, both exasperated and exhilarated by the act. Sherlock pulled John to him again, and stroked John’s jaw with the knuckles of his right hand.

“Oh, I intend to make it up to you.” Sherlock purred, his voice vibrating through John as though he were an instrument, expertly played by the detective.

John toed off his shoes, and bent down to remove his socks, coming to stand before Sherlock again, both men clothed only from the waist down. On his way up, he couldn’t help but notice the tenting at the front of Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms now, and he smiled to himself. It seemed a triumph that he had caused that. They stood still for a moment, close enough to touch, but not. John knew the next move was pivotal, that there would be no turning back, no pretending this didn’t happen. He inhaled deeply, eyes locked on Sherlock’s. His flatmate’s eyes somehow were on fire beneath that icy blue green, sparking with want, but not completely removed from the calculating personality. John searched Sherlock’s eyes, but his mind had run away with him, already playing out the possible scenarios before them.

“What do you want, John?” Sherlock asked, his face unchanged.

Before he could change his mind, John breathed out quickly “You.” It was barely a whisper and he felt the need to repeat himself. “God, Sherlock, I want you.”

A devilish grin played at the corners of Sherlock’s mouth. “Show me how much.” He commanded, eyes flicking down to John’s (uncomfortably tight, really) jeans.

John’s hands immediately undid his belt buckle, and he struggled only a moment with the button on his jeans before he was able to dig his thumbs under the waistband of his pants, and pulled them down to his ankles together. His now achingly hard cock swung out from his pelvis, arching up towards his belly button, his jeans now pooled at his ankles. He stood facing Sherlock again, not knowing what to say. Sherlock parted his lips at the first look he got at all of John, his arousal flaring. He felt his own penis twitch slightly in his loose briefs. Sherlock sank to a crouch in front of John to further investigate. John gasped as he felt the air move against his newly exposed skin, the chill where a bead of pre-come was forming at the tip of his prick and cooling, and he shivered from the sensation. Sherlock ran his hands upward from John’s ankles, tracing each line of musculature from his calves to his kneecaps, up the front of his thighs and along that sinful curve at his coxal bone, carefully avoiding the part of John that so clearly wanted attention.

Sherlock continued his movements around to John’s arse cheeks, as he looked up at the face of the man at his mercy. John licked his lips, and Sherlock knew what he was hoping would happen next. Instead, Sherlock gripped John’s cheeks and spread them with his hands before letting go and bringing his hands back down with a not-quite-gentle smack. John moaned again, ever responsive, and Sherlock smiled, pulling himself back to standing by bracing his weight against John’s hips. He shifted so that as he stood, John’s bare cock would touch his still clothed erection, and he relished both the feeling and the look of near helplessness on John’s face.

“God, Sherlock… please…” John moaned, reaching up to tangle his hands in Sherlock’s dark curls once again. Sherlock leaned down and kissed John again, trying to convey his urgency without words. With John’s hands securely fastened in his hair, Sherlock leaned partially forward so as to knock John off balance, and caught him where his arse met his legs.

Sherlock swiftly lifted John, wrapping the shorter man’s legs about his waist, turned precisely 82.37 degrees counterclockwise, pushed the lower chains of the swing apart with his elbows, and planted the naked and badly aroused doctor in the swing. John’s jeans still dangled from one foot. Sliding his hands out from between John and the leather of the swing, Sherlock captured John’s wrists in either of his hands and pulled him away, out of their kiss. Sherlock’s eyes flicked from John’s to the wrist straps in the chains near John’s shoulders. Without a word, John nodded heatedly, wanting Sherlock to just get ON with it already.

Still bent over John, Sherlock wrapped both hands around his left wrist and stretched the arm above John’s head. Sherlock’s elegant fingers made quick work of the buckle on that strap, then proceeded to repeat the process with John’s right wrist. He gave each of them a firm tug and looked back at John, looping a finger beneath the straps.

“Too tight?” Sherlock asked, already knowing the answer.

John was breathless, and he’d hardly been touched yet. “No, they’re fine.” He breathed with a slight shake of his head.

Sherlock smiled and threaded his fingers through John’s and rocked his hips forward, swaying John in the swing and letting his bare arse bounce back against Sherlock’s groin. Sherlock gasped as he forced John back against him repeatedly, relishing the pressure on his cock through the pyjamas and his pants. He leaned down until his chest was flush against John’s and kissed him again. John took control of the kiss, sucking at Sherlock’s lower lip between his teeth. It was the one thing he could do in his position that made him feel like he had some power. Not that he would ever complain about this position… John rather liked being restrained in some ways.

Suddenly, Sherlock was gone from his lips and hands, and John opened his eyes just as Sherlock sank between his legs. Sherlock shifted John’s jeans so as to remove them when the bottle of lube John had stuck in his pocket clattered to the floor. Sherlock tossed the pile of denim aside and reached for the bottle.

John, upon realizing what it was, groaned in embarrassment. Sherlock chuckled. “How thoughtful of you, John. This will come in quite handy.” He said, wedging the small plastic bottle between John’s hip and the swing.

“I didn’t plan this, you know.” John said, simply out of the need to say something. “I keep a bottle-“

“In the top drawer of your night table. Yes, on top of your pornographic magazines which you keep for your masturbatory sessions. I am well aware. My bed is almost directly below yours.” Sherlock finished, staring at John from between his legs.

“Have you ever wondered,” he continued, lifting one of John’s thighs onto his shoulder “if I was down here listening to you pleasure yourself and imagining being a part of it?” He lifted John’s other leg. “Or if the sounds you made excited me?” Sherlock shifted so his chest was pressed against John’s arse, and wrapped his long, pale arms up and around John’s hips, resting his hands on either hipbone.

"Because I was.” Sherlock kissed the inside of John’s left thigh, barely a centimeter above his balls. “And they did.” He kissed John’s right thigh before sliding his eyes up John’s abdomen, taking in the man laid out before him. John stared (down?) at the beautiful creature betwixt his legs, craning his neck in a way he would surely regret the next day. He wanted to see all he could of what Sherlock was doing to him, was going to do to him. He didn’t want to miss a single, sinful moment of it.

Sherlock held eye contact with John as he stopped moving for several excruciating moments, then pressed his perfect lips against the base of John’s throbbing cock. John’s voice caught in his throat as he moaned, and the sound came out garbled. Sherlock continued to press soft kisses along the underside of John’s shaft, moving slowly upwards to the glans, which was almost entirely exposed from the foreskin. John squirmed under Sherlock’s touch, desperate for more contact. Sherlock tried to use his leverage against John’s hips to hold him still, but it proved more daunting than he had expected.

He pressed a final kiss to the tip of John’s prick and exhaled slowly on the flushed and glistening skin, pressing his lips together in a small ‘O’ shape. John stared down at him, his eyes widening at the new sensation, and he couldn’t help but throw his head back over the edge of the swing, and stare at the ceiling, waiting.

Sherlock was surprised at the effect that having John in this position was having on him. The tan man was entirely prone before him, stretched out and exposed, utterly vulnerable. Though softening with civilian life, John’s figure was still beautifully defined from a long-term regimen of physical activity. His abdomen dipped and swelled at the junction of different muscles, and even the devastating pucker of a scar on John’s left pectoral seemed somehow perfect, just another part of John to be laved, to be loved. Sherlock was completely hard, and knew with each beat of his frantic heart, more blood was directing itself to his groin. Surely most people didn’t supplement their arousal with thoughts of anatomical workings, Sherlock thought. But then again, he wasn’t most people.

With his lower lip still stuck to the head of John’s cock, Sherlock flicked his tongue out and licked at the corona, eliciting a gasp from John. At John’s reaction, Sherlock moved his head forward, and descended his mouth on the entirety of John’s length. John snapped his head back to stare down at Sherlock, who was now working up and down his cock and he grabbed the chains at his wrists. John watched as Sherlock's lips moved around him, savoring the feeling of that mouth on him. He felt the tip hit the back of Sherlock’s throat and Sherlock swallowed with John still fully engulfed. John had had his share of blow jobs, but nothing in his past even came close to this.

“Sherlock,” John panted, “Have you- nnnghh- done this before?” Sherlock paused, and came off John’s cock with a soft pop.

He licked his lips and looked up to meet eyes with John. “Once.” He punctuated the one word sentence with another brush of his lips against the underside of John’s length, never breaking eye contact.

John quirked an eyebrow at Sherlock, who mirrored the action. “Recently?”

“No.”

“And you just…”

“Hard drive, remember?” Sherlock said, lifting a finger to tap at his temple.

“Found it useful?”

“John.”

“What?”

“Do shut up.”

Sherlock once more took John’s cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around in soft figure eights as he pushed deeper, his nose coming to rest briefly in the coarse blond curls at the base. He removed one hand from John’s hip to gently hold the shaft vertical while he repositioned to suck one testicle into his mouth before releasing it with a wet smack. He took the other into his mouth and tugged gently with his lips, drawing more delicious sounds from John.

Sherlock continued alternating between lapping at John's balls and feverishly sucking his cock from every possible angle, periodically pulling at him with long, twisting strokes. John had never felt some of the sensations Sherlock's skilled mouth and hands created around him, and he writhed against the leather in ecstasy, his arse hanging partially off the swing as Sherlock worked him. Confident in the course of progression, Sherlock slipped lower, and gave John's perineum a pressing lick with his lithe tongue.

"Oh, God!" John whined, turning to bury his face in his shoulder. His reaction caused Sherlock to moan with pleasure as well, and the vibration seemed to reach to the marrow of John's bones. Sherlock took both his hands and firmly grasped John's arse cheeks, spreading him out as well as he could with John's legs still slung over his shoulders. He pressed his face against John's groin and tentatively drew his tongue backward, stopping as he was able to trace the edge of John's puckering hole with the very tip. John let out another low moan and pushed his hips against Sherlock encouragingly. The detective pressed his tongue against John's hole again, and sealed his lips to the soft, pink skin there, sucking gently as he worked his tongue forward and back, breaching John in this gloriously filthy way. John arched his back and the movement caused Sherlock to lose contact.

He stood quickly and took hold of John's ankles, spreading his legs farther apart. He lifted John's legs up, extending his arms slightly above his head, and looked down at John. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his cropped hair was in disarray.

"You're moving too much." Sherlock stated.

"Yes." John breathed. "Sorry, it's just you're so bloody good and-"

Sherlock dropped John's legs and leaned down to plant another kiss on his lips, silencing him, if only briefly. John made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and Sherlock pulled away, leaving John with his lips still pursed and eyes pressed closed.

"I'm going to strap your ankles in now. You must tell me if it hurts or is unpleasant in any way. I do not wish to harm you, John." Sherlock said, reaching down to collect John's ankles once again.

John could hear sincerity in Sherlock's voice, and the realization turned him on even more, knowing that Sherlock would not hurt him. "Yes." Was all he managed in reply.

Sherlock lifted first John's left leg to the spreader bar and buckled him in, then the right. John's arse was upturned just slightly, precisely what Sherlock wanted. John shifted in the swing, making his new position more comfortable, before looking back into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock ran his hands down the insides of John's legs, meeting them in the middle for three quick two-fisted jerks up his hard and leaking cock. John made another incoherent sound that went straight to Sherlock's groin.

Sherlock hooked his thumbs into the band of both his pyjama bottoms and his pants and shucked them off, finally freeing his own erection. John licked his lips at the sight of Sherlock exposed and hard before him. Smooth, pale skin stretched almost too close to bone and tendon, lean muscle in exactly the right places. Even in the context of their present activities, John was once again struck by Sherlock's sheer beauty. His cock twitched as he let his eyes trace the curve of Sherlock's chest, the slope of his hips, and the sudden flush partially obscured by dark , impossibly soft-looking pubic hair just below his navel. Sherlock's cock matched the rest of him perfectly; long, elegant, and powerful. Engorged with blood it echoed the shade of pink of Sherlock's lips. John longed to touch him, to taste him, but knew that was not part of the plan.

Sherlock gingerly snatched the bottle of lube from where he had previously placed it and popped the cap open with his left hand. He generously coated two fingers on his right hand and closed the bottle again. He ran the pads of his fingers down the underside of John's shaft, over his testicles and down to his still wet arse hole. Sherlock flicked his eyes from his present focus to John's watchful gaze, and back again. He rubbed at John's entrance, drawing little circles with his finger, before gently pressing inward.

"Sherlock" John moaned as one long finger probed inside him, rotating slowly. Sherlock hummed softly as he pulled his finger out and pushed in again, his unoccupied hand holding John firmly at the hip. John whimpered as Sherlock continued pumping his finger into John's arse. After a moment, Sherlock added his second finger and worked John open with the two, periodically scissoring them apart or brushing upward in search of John's prostate.

John laid in the swing, fighting to keep still below the waist. All he wanted to do was rock his hips and fuck himself on Sherlock's fingers. He thrashed his head from side to side, his mouth hanging open. With just the right frequency, Sherlock would press his fingertips over the bundle of nerves within him that set John to panting wildly, rotating his wrists so he could curl his fingers about the chains at his head. With the gentle sway of the swing, John felt like he was almost floating in this haze of pleasure.

Without warning, Sherlock slid his hand from its resting place at the crease of John's hip and began to stroke his nearly forgotten cock again, gathering the pre-come with his thumb and pulling in time to the movements of his other hand below. The sensation was almost overwhelming for John, who bucked into Sherlock's fist before even realizing what he was doing. Sherlock made a tsking sound and John groaned once more. 

"Please, Sherlock." John begged "Either let me come now, or fuck me."

Sherlock's eyes widened at the second to last word and ceased all movement with his hands.

"Fuck you." Sherlock said, tasting and considering the phrase. "Is that what you would like me to do, John?"

John moaned and slowly nodded his head. 

"Say it." Sherlock stated forcefully, looking down into John's face with a heady mixture of curiosity and desire.

John breathed out, forcing his eyes up to Sherlock's once more.

"I want," he paused "I need you to fuck me, Sherlock." Slightly surprised at himself as the words left his lips. 

Sherlock smiled and placed himself so that his prick was resting against John's arse. 

"With pleasure." He purred.

 He leaned forward and sucked at John's collarbone, pressing their throbbing cocks together while he grasped the bound man's wrists. Sherlock thrusted his hips forward, bouncing John's arse off his hips with a satisfying slap. 

Sherlock again picked up the small bottle of lube and popped the cap, slicking himself up first before drizzling the liquid over John's testicles, letting it drip down the cleft of John's arse, making his damp skin shine more in the dusky afternoon light. He gave the bottle another squeeze and heard the rush of air. 

"It would appear I owe you a new bottle of lubricant." Sherlock mused, tossing it aside and John laughed, a low, delicious sound resonating through him.

He stroked himself again before lining himself up between John's legs. Sherlock held his cock in one hand and clasped John's thigh with the other and pressed the very tip of himself against John's entrance. The doctor squirmed, trying to push down on Sherlock, longing to be filled. He let out a small whimper of frustration, and Sherlock pulled away. 

"What're you doing?" John whined

"Have you done this before?" Sherlock asked, his brow furrowed. 

John met the detective's eyes and smiled. "Once." He said. 

Sherlock moaned and threw his head back, pressing his prick against John's arse hole again.

He pushed himself inside slowly, barely an inch at a time, each minute movement eliciting a small sound from John. Sherlock stopped when his pelvis was firmly against John's arse cheeks, and waited.

John had only ever had a cock inside him once before, and it had been a drunken fumble in his army days. The union was clumsy, messy, and almost painful. But the feeling of Sherlock buried in him was bliss. Hot, wet bliss. 

Eyes locked, Sherlock began to pull back, almost as slow as he had pushed in, and a small breath escaped him, whistling through his lips. John's toes curled and he arched his back, his fingers gripping the chains almost painfully tight.

Sherlock tensed and pressed forward again, glancing down to watch as his length began to disappear inside John's arse again. John was deliciously tight around him, and the way he was spread out before him, sweaty and wanton, made Sherlock shiver slightly. God, he thought, this is so... hot. He felt sheepish that his usual arsenal of descriptive words had suddenly fled his mind, leaving him with nothing but that three-letter word. And yet, he doubted he could find a more appropriate word for the entire encounter once his mind was clear. It was, crude as it may sound, incredibly hot.

He thrust the rest of the way into John at that thought, and John moaned encouragingly. 

"I'm not going to break, you know," he said, clenching down around Sherlock's cock "you can move faster."

As the muscles within John closed around him, Sherlock let out a strangled sound that contained only consonants, but he obliged. With a snap of his hips he pulled nearly completely out of John and slammed back into him, causing the chains of the swing to jingle.

"Ahh, yes! Harder!" John cried, lolling back his head.

Sherlock shifted his hands so that he was holding the chains just below John's ankles and leaned back slightly, pumping his hips against John's arse, each thrust making a wet smacking sound as their skin met again and again. Each time, John made a different, almost obscene noise, alternating between praises to Sherlock, praises to God, and panted exclamations of 'fuck!'

Sherlock experimented with bending his knees at varying degrees, and rolling his pelvis under to slide himself against John's prostate as he pounded into him. He knew each time he was successful as John would moan loudly, unable to form words. Sherlock could feel a distantly familiar heat building in his very core as he continued to slam himself into John, and his knees weakened. He leaned forward over John, and wove his left arm behind the blond man's neck, pulling him up so their foreheads touched. He released the chain he had been holding with his right and snaked his hand between their abdomens, wrapping his long fingers around John's rock-hard erection, and began jerking his hand in time to his thrusts. 

John wanted nothing more at that moment than to hold Sherlock to him, to tangle his fingers through the mop of curls bouncing against Sherlock's forehead, but instead he tightened his grip and focused on the little movements he could make, rocking his hips to intensify Sherlock's movements. His legs and wrists were beginning to ache, but as Sherlock's hand closed around his cock and began to move, John could think of nothing but how badly he wanted to come, right there in Sherlock's hand.

They stared at each other, unblinking as they moved in unison, silent but for the wet slaps of skin on skin and their labored breathing. Sherlock's fingers dug into the back of John's neck, and John savored the sensation of almost-pain. He strained upward, licking selfishly at Sherlock's gorgeous lips. Sherlock moaned as the tip of John's tongue flicked at his upper lip and broke the silence. 

"Close." He whispered into John's mouth. "So...fucking...close." he continued, punctuating with hard thrusts.

John could feel his own orgasm building, burning deep in his belly. "Come for me, Sherlock." He said, bringing his voice as close to its normal timbre as he could manage.

At John's words, Sherlock released John's neck and straightened back up, letting his own head fall back. He kept his one hand gripping John's cock and brought the other down to pull John against him by the waist. Sherlock's thrusts became erratic, and as he rammed into John a final time, his orgasm exploded over him and he cried out "Oh god! John!"

Every muscle in his body contracted and he felt four distinct shots as he ejaculated forcefully into John's arse. His whole body shook with the force if his release, and he found himself greedily pulling at John's cock.

After mere moments, Sherlock felt John's body tense against and around his own, and he gripped John tightly as he whimpered Sherlock's name to the ceiling,striping his stomach and chest with hot, pearly come. Sherlock released John and leaned forward again to free his wrists, planting wet kisses on John's face as he did so. Before he could lift up again to undo John's ankles, the doctor's hands captured him around the neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. Their tongues danced as they panted against each other's mouths, and John let out one more small, contented moan.

Sherlock straightened again and unbuckled John's ankles, letting his legs fall. Aware of the discomfort he would face if he were to let his legs hang down, he wrapped them tightly around Sherlock's waist as the detective leaned down over him once more. Sherlock pulled his softening prick out of John's arse slowly, and took advantage of the way John arched his back to slide his arms beneath him and lift John out of the swing. 

Still weak from his climax, Sherlock's knees gave out from under him and the two men fell to the floor, a tangle of naked limbs. Sherlock lay back on the floor, John now straddling his thighs, and chuckled. John smiled down at him, both of them still riding the wave of euphoria. Sherlock wrapped his hand around John's wrist and began to evaluate it, running the fingers of his other hand over the still present indentations from the chains of the swing. He pressed his lips to the pink marks and John sighed.

"I think your experiment worked." He said, leaning down to kiss Sherlock softly.

"I agree, John. Though of course the mark of a truly successful experiment is repeatable results. One needs as much data as possible for an accurate analysis."

John felt rather than saw the smirk on Sherlock's face. 

"Oh, yes." John said, licking a trail up Sherlock's jaw. "And wouldn't it be brilliant to repeat the experiment with a reversal of the variables?"John placed a small kiss just below his ear lobe, and Sherlock turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"My dear Watson, I believe we've made a breakthrough."


End file.
